Winterfell's main keep hall, heated by hundreds of tallow candles and roaring fireplaces, had become a boisterous, sweltering furnace.
In the air, the greasy aroma of roasted wild boar mingled with the sour smell of spilled ale.
These scents combined to form a dizzying, warm current.
The minstrel's lute music was torn to shreds by King Robert's crude laughter and the lords' loud toasts.
Sturdy warriors, stripped to the waist, embraced delicate prostitutes.
Lynn, holding a cup of ale, stood in the most inconspicuous corner of the hall.
The stone pillar behind him was cold, blocking most of the heat.
Lynn watched the grand and hypocritical scene before him with detached indifference, like a ghost.
Eddard Stark sat at the head of the table.
He drank cup after cup with Robert.
However, the smile on his face was as stiff as a mask.
Lady Catelyn, meanwhile, circulated among the Southern noblewomen.
Her demeanor was impeccable, but the hint of worry deep in her eyes flickered in the candlelight.
Soon, Catelyn left. She needed to tidy Sansa's appearance.
Tonight, Sansa would be the center of attention, and Catelyn did not want the Southern noblewomen to mock her.
Lynn's gaze swept through the crowd.
He saw Jaime Lannister.
The Kingslayer was whispering something to his sister, Queen Cersei Lannister, eliciting a charming giggle from her.
But no one noticed.
Their beauty, in this chaotic environment, seemed so out of place, and so dangerous.
Lynn drained the ale in his cup.
The spicy liquid slid down his throat, but it could not dispel the chill in his heart.
He turned and left the clamor.
Walking through a corridor adorned with antler chandeliers, the cold air outside cleared his muddled mind considerably.
A suppressed, faint conversation drifted from a window not far ahead.
It was Lady Catelyn Stark and Sansa Stark.
Sansa's voice carried an eagerness, steeped in wine and fantasy.
Her sky-blue dress shimmered softly in the moonlight, and her pretty face was filled with a maiden's longing for the future.
"Prince Joffrey is so handsome, so brave!"
"I will be his queen!"
"When will we get married?"
"Now, or should we wait?"
Although he did not see Lady Catelyn Stark, Lynn could imagine the expression on her face at that moment.
Weariness, worry, and a hint of helplessness.
"Sansa, listen."
Catelyn's voice was soft, yet it carried an undeniable seriousness.
"Don't get excited. Your father hasn't agreed yet."
Sansa asked, puzzled.
"Then why won't he agree?"
"He will soon become the Hand of the King, second only to the King himself."
Speaking of this, Sansa showed an excited smile.
Catelyn's face held bitterness.
"Then he will have to leave his home."
"And he will leave me."
"Of course, you will also leave home."
Sansa's expression showed a hint of confusion.
"Didn't you also leave your home to come to Winterfell back then?"
"And I, one day, will become queen."
Sansa suddenly turned her head.
"Please, make Father agree!"
Catelyn wanted to say something else.
But the eager Sansa interrupted her.
"Please, marrying a prince is my lifelong wish."
Catelyn looked at her daughter's yearning gaze, remained silent for a long time, and then slowly spoke.
"This is not a song sung by the Northern minstrels."
"Becoming queen is not just about wearing pretty dresses and attending balls."
"You..."
"I understand!"
Sansa interrupted her mother, her voice rising slightly, carrying the grievance of being misunderstood.
"I will be a good queen, just like Queen Nymeria in the legends!"
"I will bear him golden-haired princes."
"Mother, please, make Father agree quickly!"
"I don't want to stay in Winterfell anymore; it's cold and boring here!"
The girl's plea, like a slender needle, pricked Lady Catelyn Stark's heart.
Lynn's face was expressionless.
He felt no sympathy, nor contempt.
He was merely like the calmest chess player, watching a piece destined to be sacrificed on the board excitedly walk into a trap.
Sansa's fate, from this moment on, was firmly bound to the blood-stained Iron Throne.
And he was powerless to stop it, nor did he wish to.
Sansa had been blinded by power.
Eddard Stark had to go South.
This was the King's command, a dear friend's request, and his inescapable responsibility as the Warden of the North.
Lynn's gaze passed through the window, looking towards the depths of the Courtyard.
There, an ancient Broken Tower stood in the night, like a broken tusk.
A thought flashed through Lynn's mind.
That was where Bran fell, and it was the greatest benefit he could currently seize for himself!
Lynn quietly retreated, blending back into the shadows, and left the corridor.
He did not return to his room.
Instead, he crossed the noisy Courtyard, heading towards the other side of the Castle.
There, far from the main keep's lights, only the patrolling guards' torches cast flickering light spots in the darkness.
Lynn arrived at the base of the Broken Tower.
The First Keep, the oldest part of Winterfell.
He looked up, gazing at the dilapidated walls.
He knew that Bran Stark, the boy who loved to climb, would fall from a height.
He would see something he should not.
Jaime and Cersei's secret!
And this secret, like a stone thrown into a lake, would stir up monstrous waves!
Saving Bran was not out of any noble morality.
Lynn had no morality to speak of; he was not a pedantic Stark.
What would a healthy, uninjured Bran Stark mean for House Stark?
What would he gain, having saved the Duke's second son at a critical moment?
That would no longer be simple trust.
It would be a favor capable of changing Lynn's destiny.
A bargaining chip that would allow him to truly escape his prisoner status and gain a foothold.
This was the first, and most crucial, chess piece he could place in this Game of Thrones.
Lynn would not allow himself to miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Before gaining Strength, he could only rely on schemes, just like Lord Petyr Baelish.
Lynn had to act, but not rashly.
He could not just rush in and tell everyone there was a problem in the tower.
That would not only make him seem like a madman but also dilute the Starks' gratitude towards him.
He needed perfect timing, an unquestionable excuse, a plausible reason that would allow him to appear at the "scene of the incident" at just the right moment.
Lynn's gaze began to scan the surrounding environment.
Below the tower was a forgotten clearing, overgrown with weeds and scattered with discarded stones.
This place was secluded; almost no one would come here.
Except... the boy who loved to climb everywhere.
And, of course, the Cersei siblings who enjoyed their illicit affair.
He now needed to understand Bran's habits, his climbing routes, and the times he usually appeared.
Starting tomorrow, he will lie in wait here, day after day.
Until that day when Bran and the golden-haired siblings appeared together on that tower.
Lynn withdrew his gaze, turned, and left.